


Tangiers

by magpie_fngrl



Series: Tumblr AU Prompts [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, Inspired by Indiana Jones, M/M, Rimming, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-04-01 06:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13992318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpie_fngrl/pseuds/magpie_fngrl
Summary: The one where Harry and Draco are archaeologists, ex boyfriends and seeking the same priceless and possibly cursed object. Featuring a revolver, the spirits of dead monks and a bed they can hardly fit in.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a tumblr fill to this ask: anon asked: _Hi there! I adore all your drabbles, and I think that your writing is absolutely phenomenal!!! Can I request a drarry breaking up and getting back together one-shot for the au adventure meme? (I’m on an angst kick rn lol) Thanks for being such an amazing presence in this fandom!_
> 
> All my love and gratitude to **restlessandordinary** for the fast beta!
> 
> Note: The second chapter is a prequel (written several months later) so you could read the second chapter before this one. If you wanted.

Six months of research, nine officials to bribe, a week of travel to these mountains, four hours bent over the tomb in the musty cave, but Draco finally held the rosewood-and-silver medallion of the Night Monks in his gloved hand. He wiped his damp hair off his forehead and smiled to himself, his shoulders relaxing, just before a whip snatched it out of his grasp.

The medallion flew to the figure in the hat standing at the entrance of the cave, backlit by the setting sun. Draco’s body tensed, his speech robbed from him by the shock. There were a thousand things he could say to the man. _That medallion’s mine_ , for one. Or: _Haven’t seen you in months_. Or: _How could you leave me sleeping in a hotel room in Tangiers and never return, without a word of goodbye?_

Instead Draco said, ‘Did you touch the medallion with your bare hands like a complete berk?’

‘Just a superstition, isn’t it?’ Harry slid the medallion in his pocket.

Draco stalked closer, burning with fury. ‘Ignorant idiots like you shouldn’t be allowed to deal with priceless and possibly cursed objects.’

Harry paused. He tipped his hat back, his eyes inscrutable on Draco’s face. ‘You look good, Draco.’

‘Do _not—_ ’ Draco swallowed hard. A rumble sounded from around them, but all Draco could focus on was Harry _fucking_ Potter. Harry attracted attention and trouble the way flowers attract bees. Draco had known, even back when they were archaeology students in Cambridge, that Harry scorched the earth in his passage through life. Draco didn’t heed his own brain’s warnings; he’d allowed Harry to come close and he’d got burned as a result.

‘I’ve spent months of research tracking the medallion down and you think you can just come and _take it_?’ Draco buried his left hand in his pocket and clasped the soothing metal of his revolver, his fury mixing with memories he’d worked hard to suppress.

Harry took a step forward, his temper flaring. ‘Research facilitated by _my private_ notes that you _copied_ when I was busy with the Sultan’s daughter and the ebony statue she’d made away with! You’re only here because you deceived me!’ Dust from the ceiling fell between them and gravel rolled on the floor, but both ignored it, as they faced each other, the memories of what _had been_ forming a barrier between them.

Draco took out the revolver from his pocket. ‘Hand me the medallion.’ He was gratified to note his voice rang out cold and steady, despite the frantic beatings of his heart.

More dust rained from the ceiling and landed on Harry’s hat and shoulders. ‘You won’t hurt me,’ he said.

‘Don’t be so sure.’

Harry’s expression softened, became almost wistful. ‘Draco, if this is about Tangiers—’

Draco shot him.

 

* * *

 

‘You complete and utter bastard!’ Harry shouted, kneeling on the ground, clutching his arm. ‘You shot me!’

Draco bent to reach into Harry’s pocket, throwing his whip to the side and removing the medallion. He ignored Harry’s scent; the after shave which Draco associated with a certain kind of bliss. ‘I’d apologise, but I’m not actually sorry.’

He stood with the medallion in his gloved hand and that’s when he felt it. He glanced at Harry to see he’d realised it at the same time; that rumbling sound coming from deep in the mountain sounded like the patter of thousands of feet.

 ‘ _Touching the Moon with human hands will wake the sleeping monks_.’ Draco repeated the saying about the medallion, also known as the Moon, the most sacred object of the Night Monks. The legend had it that they’d protect the medallion even after death.

Harry rose to his feet with a grunt just as the cave shook violently, dust raining on them. A susurrus rose as if from the mountain itself, ghostly voices whispering, and Draco pocketed the medallion, grabbed Harry’s uninjured arm and hauled him outside. They pelted down the slope.

‘I’ve a horse nearby,’ Harry panted. ‘Come on!’

Draco had no idea why Harry offered to help him after having been shot, but he didn’t object. It’d gone dark now, the setting sun just a sliver of gold behind the west peaks. Running and stumbling, they reached a path made by goat herders where an animal grazed, tethered to some straggly pines.

‘That’s a _donkey_!’ Draco cried. ‘It can’t carry us both!’

‘He’ll — manage,’ Harry panted, and the beast raised its large dark eyes at Draco before turning them to the mountain. Harry grunted as he mounted it, sweat shining on his forehead. ‘Coming?’

The ground rolled underneath them, making Draco’s decision for him. He climbed behind Harry, his body heating up with the proximity.

‘Hold tight,’ Harry said.

‘I won’t!’ He _wouldn’t_ touch Harry; that was out of the question. Death by ghostly monks seemed a better alternative.

‘Suit yourself,’ Harry said and spurred the donkey on.

To Draco’s surprise, the donkey was fast down the goat path, possibly because it’d heard the eldritch roar coming from the mountain top and sensed that the dark cloud billowing form the cave mouth consisted of the souls of unholy monks with a penchant for animal sacrifice. Whatever it was, Draco had to hold on to Harry’s waist to avoid being unseated. Slowly, Harry leaned to one side, almost falling over. Blood dripped down his arm when Draco touched him to straighten him. Harry’s sleeve was soaked in it.

‘Harry? Are you holding up?’ Draco whispered. He hadn’t _meant_ to shoot him. Harry riled him in a way that Draco could never quite control.

‘There’s a village nearby,’ Harry rasped. He’d paled, his face beaded with sweat. ‘Brutus knows where to go.’

Brutus bayed and ran faster. Holding Harry tight against him, his mind now in terror, Draco prayed the village wasn’t far.

 

Lights appeared behind a bend in the path. The village consisted of two dozen huts surrounding a square packed with dirt. Draco jumped off Brutus and dragged Harry carefully down. ‘A doctor! A healer… someone?’ he shouted at the villagers who’d gathered to see the arrivals, but no one responded until Draco pointed at Harry’s bleeding arm, and a glowering young man beckoned them to follow him.

He led them to a hut which belonged to a crone with a brown, wrinkled face, a tangle of white hair and not many teeth. She glanced at Draco, then at Harry, then at the mountain. Turning to the villager, she spoke rapidly in their language and he jabbered back just as fast, glowering at Draco some more. They spoke with many hand gestures and a lot of glances at both foreigners. Draco, holding an almost unconscious Harry by the waist, wanted to shake them. _He’s bleeding!_ He wanted to shout. _Do something!_

Before he lost his temper, the woman plodded inside her hut and returned with a bundle of foul-smelling leaves which she gave to the villager, keeping one for herself. She tied it over the entrance, and waved Harry and Draco in. Moving around the dim hut, she collected herbs, clean cloth, a bottle of moonshine and what looked like knitting needles.

Draco watched, his heart in his throat, as the woman cut Harry’s shirt sleeve, cleaned his wound and removed the bullet. She chewed some herbs and applied the paste to the wound before dressing it. Harry had come to by then, his eyes fixed on Draco’s.

Now that Harry was out of danger, Draco could go back to hating him with an easy conscience. The memories he’d tried so hard to forget for the past eight months burst through his mind, vivid as if he was watching a cinema screen: rumpled sheets smelling of sweat and sex in a shoddy hotel room in Moldavia; two weeks with the Bedouins, sharing a tent under an enormous star-lit sky; Harry kissing him by the river in Cambridge when they were students; Harry sucking on his neck against the wall of a tavern in Argentina, his hands doing wonderful things on Draco’s cock; Harry whispering in his ear ‘ _You’re my everything’_ in Tangiers the night before he walked out on them.

Draco read all these memories in Harry’s eyes. The fire flickered in the centre of the hut and cast dancing shadows on the walls as the crone stood and puttered with a bubbling pot. A harsh wind roared outside that seemed anything but natural, but the woman seemed neither fearful nor surprised.

‘Are we safe from the spirits here?’ Draco asked her and pointed outside, hoping she’d understand.

She pointed at the malodorous leaves hanging from one corner of the ceiling among other bundles of herbs.

‘Bane Leaves,’ Harry said from where he leaned back on a low seat. ‘The tribes around here use them for banishment rituals.’

The woman ladled goat soup in two ceramic bowls and brought them over with two spoons. The pungent smell permeated the hut and the broth was thin, but they both gobbled it. After dinner ended, the lady took a sip from the bottle of moonshine, passed it to Harry — who coughed — and to Draco, who took a long gulp and his eyes watered. He tried to remember the few words he knew in Nepalese. ‘Thank you,’ he said, hoping he was accurate, but she stuck out her open palm.

Of course. Money. Draco fished some local notes from his pocket and offered it to her, but she shook her head. She made a round shape and pointed at the mountain.

‘She wants the medallion,’ Harry said.

Draco stared at her unsmiling face. ‘No.’ He shook his head forcefully to make sure she understood him.

She gave him an inscrutable look and shrugged. Tugging him by the sleeve, she led Draco to a cot in an alcove behind a curtain. She pointed at him, Harry, the bed, and eventually Draco understood. ‘She wants us to share this cot,’ he said to Harry, who was watching bemused from his seat. ‘I can’t,’ Draco turned to the lady. ‘I’ll leave.’ He made for the door and she stopped him with a frantic shake of her head and a lot of gesturing.

Harry stood unsteadily and staggered towards them. He’d really lost a lot of blood. Regret swirled bitter in Draco’s stomach.

‘Stop being a prat,’ Harry said. ‘You can hear the wind. And the—’ he gulped, ‘—voices in it. You know it’s not safe out there.’ His eyes on Draco’s, he whispered, ‘It won’t kill us to share a bed. We’ve done it before.’

‘ _Precisely_ ,’ Draco hissed. Once again he considered giving himself to the vengeful spirits, but the woman shoved them both in the alcove and drew back the curtain.

They hardly fit in the tiny space. Harry flopped on the bed, removed his shoes and his glasses, and slid under the furs. ‘Going to spend the night standing?’

‘I might.’ Draco swallowed. The sight of Harry in bed was a stab to his chest.

The alcove was dark; the only light was the glow of the fire peeking from the edge of the curtain. Taking off his shoes and his jacket, Draco sat on the cot. ‘We won’t fit in,’ he murmured.

‘We’ll manage.’ Harry shuffled towards the wall.

Draco climbed in, covered himself with the furs and lay in the darkness, certain that he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Listening to the roar outside the hut — those shrills in the wind, the _chanting_ — made the hair on the back of his neck rise, so he tried his best to ignore it.

What he couldn’t ignore was Harry’s body heat next to him, or his smell, which caused Draco’s stomach to roll with the memory of dark, delicious pleasures. Draco could feel Harry’s uninjured arm beside him and it took a monumental effort not to grasp it and press it to his lips. Closing his eyes, Draco wished for fast sleep, but instead found his lips moving. ‘I didn’t mean to shoot you. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect that seeing you would—’ _Would make me realise how much I’ve missed you. How much I still want you — despite everything._

Draco couldn’t utter those words, but he felt the pain of them squeeze his chest.

‘I—‘ Harry paused. ‘I didn’t expect... _it_ either.’ He stayed silent for a while. ‘I didn’t mean to leave, you know. Not like that. But our job— and being with you… You made me want to give up everything. All sense of obligation and duty.’

‘So you gave me up instead.’

The words came laced with a bitterness rising from deep inside Draco. He’d known their assignments caused endless clash; Harry worked for the Queen, obtaining artefacts for the British Museum, whereas Draco worked for the highest bidder. Copying Harry’s notes about the medallion hadn’t been the only breach of privacy Draco had committed. He’d known that Harry had discovered the intrusion. ‘You don’t need to explain,’ Draco said, all too aware of the mistakes he’d made. Aware of the obstacles between them: work, time, trust. ‘You’re hurt,’ he said, his voice softening. ‘Get some sleep.’

‘No, I want to explain,’ Harry objected, his expression blazing and determined. Emotion weighed his words. ‘I want you to know I wasn’t planning it. I’d received a call that morning and went to the harbour. Met my boss, who needed me in Malta immediately. A ship was leaving right then. She insisted I take it.’

Draco wasn’t sure he could bear listening any longer. His whole body swelled with all the emotions he’d felt that day and ever since: rage and disbelief, regret and sorrow and longing. So much longing.

And the reason Harry destroyed what they had — something as mundane as work — was laughable, but also so believable. Harry’s work ethic was unerring and he followed it like an arrow.

‘Say no more,’ Draco said to Harry, grasping his hand under the sheets. Warm and strong, Harry’s fingers tightened around his own.

‘No, listen…’ Harry seemed desperate. ‘I wanted to send a boy with a note to the hotel, I did.’ Here his voice changed. ‘But you’d have followed me, and the matter was of the utmost secrecy and urgency. And I knew I couldn't trust you.’

And there it was; spoken out loud, the reason this could never work.

Draco felt gutted with regret. ‘No, you couldn’t.’ He could tell Harry was gearing up to say something important, something Draco wasn’t ready to hear, so he leaned in and let his lips brush Harry’s. ‘Say no more, Harry, please.’

But Harry didn’t heed him. His eyes shone as he said, ‘Draco, what I’m trying to say is that I’ve regretted it from the moment I boarded the ship and ever since. I regret it every dawn and every dusk; every day that passes without your voice; every night that goes by without you.’

‘Shut up,’ Draco said. He rose over Harry and touched his face, feeling his warm body underneath him. ‘Shut up and kiss me.’

Harry took his mouth at once, hungry and unrestrained, and Draco whimpered. He pressed Harry down and kissed him ferociously, wanting more and more and _more_ , and Harry gave it. They kissed messily, sloppily, as if they’d forgotten how to kiss and had to learn it all over again. Draco’s body burned with a wave of desire that threatened to choke him, and Harry seemed equally lost, bucking under Draco, and groaning in his mouth.

‘Take your clothes off. Take my clothes off,’ Harry rasped, and Draco made short work of them. Hovering over Harry, he paused and _looked_. His hand travelled over Harry’s chest and pert nipples, his stomach, the jutting hip bones. His lovely cock, hard and demanding attention. His thighs opening to welcome Draco between them.

‘What do you want, Harry?’ Draco asked, his voice hoarse with lust.

Harry said, ‘I want _you._ ’ The words both a balm for Draco’s aching heart, and kindle for the fire in his belly.

Draco lowered his head and licked a stripe on Harry’s shaft, smirking at the way he moaned. ‘Do you want my hands? My mouth, my arse, my cock?’

‘ _All of you_. Everything,’ Harry said. ‘I want — I want you to fuck me.’ He met Draco’s eyes and repeated it, and Draco felt his heart soar, his body thrumming with anticipation.

‘Open your legs.’ Draco lowered his mouth again and sucked Harry’s balls, leaving a glistening trail on Harry’s skin as he licked lower. Reaching Harry’s arse — that most special, most private place of him — Draco clutched his arse cheeks, held them open and lapped at Harry’s entrance.

Every word, every moan, every curse and pleading from Harry’s mouth made Draco more impatient to fuck him, but also wanting to continue this forever, to spend eternity with his tongue jabbing inside Harry’s arse, swirling slowly around it. Saliva dripped on the sheets and over Draco’s chin, and still Draco tasted him and licked him, sliding a finger along the tongue while Harry writhed.

‘Fuck me, please, fuck me,’ Harry chanted, and unable to wait any longer, Draco fumbled on the floor for his trousers to retrieve a condom, slipped it on, and returned to Harry, who held his legs high in invitation. Lining up, Draco pressed in.

‘Fuck, Harry,’ Draco moaned at the tight heat enveloping him, ‘I’ve missed this so much.’ He leaned on his elbows over him, his cock sinking inexorably inside Harry. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’

Eyes glazed with arousal, Harry clutched Draco tight. ‘You’re all I think about, Draco. You’re all I see when I close my eyes.’

‘ _Don’t_ —’ Draco didn’t want to hear love talk. He knew what this was: a night of reconciliation, a night of sweet pleasure in a hut that smelled of goat with an infernal wind howling outside. _One_ night.

They had no future. Draco knew it and Harry knew it, even if he pretended.

So Draco kissed Harry for the rest of the night to stop him from making promises he couldn’t keep. He drank in Harry’s sighs and his moans and the way he breathed when Draco rolled his hips just so. He leaned back to watch his cock slide inside Harry and out, memorising the sight, aware this time that it was the last. He rolled them to the side, pressed with his chest against Harry’s back and fucking him slow and sweet until Harry let out a cry and came over the sheets. Sweat dripped from their bodies, and Draco closed his eyes and allowed himself for one moment to pretend that this wasn’t the last time, but the first of many. His hips thrusting erratically, he let his orgasm ripple through him, and he came inside Harry with a sob.

 

* * *

 

When Draco woke up, he was alone.

The memory of the night before blasted through his brain and he couldn’t stop the pang of pain that shot through him at the idea that Harry had once again walked away.

‘… I don’t understand,’ a voice spoke outside the curtain.

Harry? Draco dressed and entered the main room where  the woman was trying to shove a leaf in Harry’s hand. Draco watched the interaction, the woman pointing at his mouth, Harry standing soft and beautiful in the half-light coming from the entrance. ‘I think she wants you to eat it,’ Draco said.

Harry raised his eyes from the lady and beamed at him. Draco’s heart _bled_ at the sight of it. ‘The monks gone?’ Draco peered out of the hut.

‘Seems like it.’ Harry pocketed the leaf, if only to shut her up, and bowed repeatedly. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You’ve been very kind.’

Draco said goodbye to the lady, leaving some money — she didn’t object this time — and they walked in the square, feeling the curious looks of the villagers. A girl brought Brutus out from wherever he spent the night. At least he wasn’t out in the open when the cloud of dead monks terrorised the village.

Harry rode the donkey and with Draco walking beside him, they took the path to the foot of the mountain and the nearest city. Neither spoke for some time, until Draco put on his gloves and rummaged in his pockets for the medallion. He looked in another pocket, then another, pausing to shake his pockets inside out. ‘It’s gone!’ he cried to Harry. ‘The medallion, Harry! Did you take it?’

Harry gave him a regretful smile. ‘No, I didn’t. You can search me if you want. The old lady did. You’d fallen asleep.’

‘Why didn’t you stop her?’ Draco shouted. He’d given up so much for this medallion; he sacrificed so much time and effort and trust.

‘What do you think made the curse go away? Some things aren’t there for the taking, Draco.’

‘Don’t be condescending,’ Draco snapped. ‘You went to the cave for the same reason I did.’

‘To take it to a _museum_.’

Draco crossed his arms. ‘Which museum? The Nepalese National Museum? What right does Britain have to take artefacts from around the world for her museums? How is it different than what _I_ do?’

‘I don’t _profit_ —’ Harry stopped and sighed. He rubbed his face. They’d had this argument before. ‘I don’t want to do this now. Can we not argue?’

Draco deflated. He stroked Harry’s hand. ‘No arguments. Tell me about Brutus. Where on earth did you find him?’

‘Ah,’ Harry smiled. ‘Me and Brutus go way back…’

‘How long?’ Draco asked, surprised.

‘A week?’

Draco laughed. ‘Idiot.’

In the city, they spent one more night together in a hotel by the train station where the bed shook when trains rumbled past. They kissed and touched and fucked and held each other, insatiable and rapturous, before Harry had to take the train to Hanoi and Draco a plane to the Philippines.

‘Perhaps we can find a way,’ Harry whispered before sleep took them, his arms around Draco.

‘Perhaps.’

 

For the third time, Draco woke up alone. But this time, Harry had left a note with a name and a date.

 

**3 weeks later**

‘Welcome to _Hotel Farah Tanger_ , how can I help you?’

‘I’ve a reservation. The name’s Black.’

‘Of course, Monsieur Black. Room 209 is ready for you.’

Climbing the stairs, Draco let himself in the room. A ceiling fan whirred overhead. He dropped his suitcase on the floor and stared at the man standing by the window, backlit by the setting sun.

‘You came.’ Harry stretched his hand towards him.

Draco took it.


	2. Before Tangiers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I asked people on tumblr to prompt me **[Before During After drabbles](http://magpiefngrl.tumblr.com/post/174033904500/before-during-after-drabbles)**. An anon asked for: [Before + Tangiers](http://magpiefngrl.tumblr.com/post/181807264527/hi-i-absolutely-loved-tangiers-so-im-going-to). The "drabble" turned into 1.5k, as my drabbles are wont to do :))

_Sahara_

Nights in the desert brought cold winds and infinite, bright stars. At night, in the flapping tent, Harry traced constellations on Draco’s skin, giving each one a name: my darling, my sweet.

No one who knew Harry would’ve guessed he was prone to endearments. Harry carried a whip and wore a broad hat and was usually sweaty, his clothes shabby from his adventures, his nails filthy from his excavations. Brusque and uncompromising, he’d never be accepted in polite society, where Draco grew up in stilted silence, surrounded by governesses and Latin textbooks. Harry had stuck out like a sore thumb in Cambridge among the other toffs, with his brilliant intellect and his impetuous temper and his handsome face, and until he kissed Draco by the river Cam on a night filled with the scent of spring grass, Draco had never known what it meant to feel afraid.

He hid his fear the same way he hid his intrusions into Harry’s private notebooks: under a cool stare and a slight sneer. But every time they met, Draco feared it’d be the last time. Every time he and Harry made love, Draco feared he wouldn’t be able to let him go.

‘What are your plans when we reach Tangiers?’ Harry asked him on the fourth night. They’d been travelling back to the coast with the Bedouins, who’d escorted them inland as Harry sought a stolen statue for the Sultan of Morocco. The Sultan’s Seal ensured that the tribe daren’t intrude in their tent to inadvertently discover they shared a bed. Draco had spent the journey with Harry, talking and eating and riding, listening to tribe stories he couldn’t understand during the long, violet evenings around the fire, and sleeping next to him. When Draco drifted to sleep, he’d liked to imagine that the desert was a different universe, one where men could love each other and fear no law.

‘I’ve got a few days to spare,’ Draco replied. ‘We could stay in Tangiers, if you want. If you’re not busy.’

‘I don’t think I am,’ Harry said. The wind raised clouds of dust outside, but inside, the bed was piled with thick blankets and Harry was naked and beautiful.

Draco had never wished less for the return to civilisation.

‘What is it, Draco?’ Harry said, caressing his cheek.

 _I don’t want this to end_. Draco shook his head instead. ‘Nothing.’

If Harry asked Draco, Draco would give it all up: the job, the adventure, the thrill of finding lost artefacts. He’d give it all up to stay with Harry. But Harry never asked, because Harry loved archaeology. He believed in the good his work brought in the world, and that faith carried him through life. Harry would never ask, because for Harry, Draco would always come second.

*

_Tangiers_

‘I’ve got sand _everywhere_.’

Harry poured another bucket of cold water over Draco’s back and chuckled at Draco’s string of obscenities. He’d returned the missing artefact to the Sultan, and they had checked into the kind of hotel that didn’t ask questions about why two men would shove their single beds together.

‘I can clean you up,’ Harry offered. ‘ _Thoroughly_.’

Draco rubbed the water off his face and gazed at Harry's eyes, hooded and intense. It seemed that neither could get enough of the other. The more Draco fucked Harry, the more he desired him. He let his eyes travel down to Harry’s wet and naked body, all the way to the resting but interested prick. ‘I do need a _deep_ clean,’ he murmured, voice low. Harry visibly quivered as Draco continued, stretching a finger to trace Harry’s skin. ‘A good, _proper_ spit and polish.’ He enunciated each word clearly, accompanying it with a twist of Harry’s nipple.

A truly dangerous smile lit Harry's face. Draco had but one brief, moment to revel in the toe-curling anticipation of what was to come before Harry bent him over right there in the shower and cleaned him _everywhere_ , reducing Draco to incoherent begging by the time he was through.

Tangiers in March was a lovely affair, cooler than the insufferable heat of the summer, with the scent of orange blossom wafting in the rain-freshened air. Draco’s fear — kept at bay by Harry’s caresses and kisses — reared its head when Harry had fallen asleep. Harry would get a job soon. One of these days, he’d set off for a distant part of the world where his life might be in danger. One day, this job would claim him for good.

Draco got out of bed and padded to the desk. The open window let in the cool, ocean breeze. He glanced at Harry — his face peaceful in sleep, an arm stretched towards Draco’s side — and he burned with longing for more, and dread for the end of this blissful holiday that was surely coming. They’d never spent this long together, not since university. Sometimes all they had was a weekend here, four days there, but they’d spent over two weeks in Morocco together. Draco had no idea how he’d leave Tangiers to pursue… anything. Eyes burning and with a last glance at Harry, he opened the drawer soundlessly and took out Harry’s notebook. He shuffled through the pages, scanning Harry’s untidy scrawl. _Possible Location of Alexander’s Tomb?_ was one heading. _The Medallion of the Night Monks_ , was another. All these dead and buried ruins that were more important than Draco’s flesh and blood heart.

He didn’t know why he copied Harry’s notes in his own notebook, and why he betrayed his trust so completely except that he felt a vague sense of anger. When he finished his copying — that Medallion looked like something that could fetch a tidy sum from the right buyer — he slid back into bed. He didn’t manage to do it quietly; Harry woke up.

‘Can’t sleep?’

‘I went for a piss.’ He kissed Harry’s temple. ‘Go back to sleep.’

‘Hm.’ Harry snuggled against him. ‘You woke me now.’ His voice was drowsy, but he rolled his hips against Draco’s in a manner that suggested he’d soon be wide awake.

‘Do you think—’ Draco found himseld unable to stop the question coming. ‘Do you think you might ever look for a different job?’

The rolling of the hips ceased. Harry raised himself on an elbow and gazed at him, but Draco remained staring at the ceiling. ‘Never really gave it any serious thought. Why do you ask?’

Draco shrugged. ‘No reason. Don't stop, though.’ He wrapped his hand around Harry’s prick to continue what Harry started, but he stopped him.

‘Something is on your mind,’ Harry said. ‘Tell me.’

‘I—’ Draco forced himself to say the words. ‘I told you. I don’t want this to end. I want more time. With you.’

Harry’s expression flickered. The longing on his face was clear as day. ‘I'd give anything to be with you.’ 

‘Anything?’ Draco challenged. ‘Not your job. That’s your number one priority, isn't it?’

Harry rolled over him and held his gaze. ‘Draco, there’s _nothing_ more important to me than you. Despite—’

Draco didn’t ask despite what. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like it. But the earnestness in Harry’s voice made his chest swell with emotion: relief and happiness, but also disbelief. ‘You say this and yet we both know the moment your boss asks you to go to the ends of the world for a powerful, mystical goblet that shouldn’t fall into the wrong hands, you’ll be off like a shot.’

‘That’s irrelevant. It’s just work. I carry you with me, Draco. Wherever I go.’

 _But you don’t take me with you_ , Draco wanted to say, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He’d been dismissed from the British Institute for a youthful mistake, and they’d never hire him again. Harry couldn’t take him anywhere, except in expeditions like the one they’d just returned from, which weren’t for the British government. 

‘I don’t think I can bear it when you go this time,’ Draco whispered. He’d never felt more open and raw, as if his chest had been sliced open. It was the most honest he’d ever been with Harry. Desperate, he leaned up and kissed him, and Harry kissed him back, his fingers digging deep in Draco’s skin, holding him painfully close.

Harry’s voice was hoarse. ‘Then I won’t go. You’re my _everything_ , Draco. I can— I can make this right. We can make it work, OK? Just give me time. Give me some time to figure something out.’

Harry’d never made a promise he didn’t keep. A lightness that Draco rarely felt enveloped him and it was only the next day that he’d recognized it for what it had been: hope.

The next day, when Harry was missing before Draco woke up, and he never returned, and Draco's hope broke like his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the unhappy ending, but it leads directly to the fic, which ends nice and hopeful :) Im working on the After + Tangiers drabble which will be very happy ending <3

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the story, press the kudos button, baby! Kudos (kudoses?) feed my soul!  
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> 
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> 
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